


Where The Wildflowers Go

by petdragonfly



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Heartbreak, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:53:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petdragonfly/pseuds/petdragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Éponine meet days before the barricade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Wildflowers Go

He was in the middle of a revolutionary speech. They were all riled up, their fists thrust up in the air, blazing expressions of revolt on their faces. In the midst of their frightened excitement, he hardly noticed a petite girl, barely a woman, slip in through the doorway.

“Monsieur Marius?” her voice was as rough as the faraway seas he had read about, but the curves in her tone were gentle and lovely. His eyes flicker over to her and takes in her tiny frame and tangled brown hair. He heaves a breath and tears his eyes away. This is not for him. 

Marius’ face turned into a half genuine smile, and Enjolras immediately knows that this isn’t the girl he has been fawning over for days.

“It’ll be just a second.” Marius dips his head in an embarrassed manner and ignores the glare Enjolras sends his way. The girl and Marius slip outside the door, and without a second thought, Enjolras turns back to his speech, a fading memory of their departure already settling at the back of his head.

\---

The second time he sees her is when he knows that this is the woman that will steal not only his wallet, but his heart. 

She runs into him, all hands and mumbled apologies. He hardly has a second to look at her before she is off on her feet again. He pats the front of his jacket, swears under his breath and runs after her. But she’s an expert of the streets, yet he keeps up with her long strides. Finally, he corners her in a dark alley, where she drops to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Monsieur.” Her voice has a harder edge this time and it’s taunting him. She looks up at him from under her boy’s cap, all big eyes and flirting lips. She tosses him his wallet. “You win.”

“What?” 

“I remember you. Actually, I can say I know you.” She smiles. “I’ve seen you speak before. All big words and talk, there’s not a lot of do, is there? I hope you can forgive me, Monsieur.” She smiles at him and Enjolras’ breathing is uneven and his heart pounds, and it’s not from the running.

“You’ve been there before?” He asks with uncontained interest. These were the people that he was fighting for and here was this creature who seemed so out of place and so aware. 

“Of course.” She wanders out from the dark shadows of the alleyway and takes off her cap. She wasn’t beautiful like the rich Paris girls, but had a wiser, more sarcastic air that spoke truths to Enjolras. He grins loopily. “It’s not just for listening to your pretty words and pretty ideas. Marius is…” She trails off, her cheeks coloring. 

Enjolras dips his head in understanding, but unconsciously feels his heart drop a little bit, but he scolds himself. She’s just a girl, you have a revolution to focus on, come on. 

“Either way, I’m glad you enjoy them.” He hesitates. “Would you…would you care to occupy me to a nearby café? I’ve got some things to work on.” He fidgets uncharacteristically with the hem of his jacket as he braces himself for an excuse about Marius. 

“Ah, Monsieur, you’re in luck. My schedule is all empty.” 

\----

They talk with ease and in the dark, could pass for young lovers. Her name is Éponine and she was an innkeeper’s daughter, spoiled young, then abandoned when cute was dropped from her vocabulary. She had taught herself how to read, explaining how she had sneaked books into the inn at night. Enjolras told her about the journeys he had, the ones he hadn’t taken, and the ones that had been cut short. 

Éponine could feel her infatuation with Marius slipping away early in the evening, when Enjolras’ eyes lit up with excitement when he started talking about the barricade he was planning and she could see his earnest need to help France become a better place. She could see his willingness to die for his friends, to die for a cause bigger than him. 

They met like this for a week before the barricade. Their conversations took a darker tone when both realized that time was limited for both. 

Éponine slipped home later and later, trying not to wake her father. Enjolras found himself distracted by the way her lips curled into her trademark smirk when she teased him, the way the dirt streaked her face but never diminished her beauty, and her lasting glances that used to be saved for Marius, but were now for him. It was impossible to fall in love so easily under normal circumstances, but these were not ordinary times, and they were people with needs that happened to find each at the right time and place.

\----

On the day of the barricade, she had told him not to fret if anything were to happen to her. That it was for him, for the greater cause, for the girls like her, and for the people. He resisted telling her not to, knowing once she set her mind to do something, she would not be swayed. He had clenched his jaw and nodded, forcing himself to bite his tongue.

The barricade seemed like a distant memory of a faraway life, even though it was not even 48 hours ago.

And now here he was, alive, but not quite whole. Walking and breathing, but not quite living. He relived the blur of the day that became a deep scar that he would never stop looking at. 

Éponine in his arms. 

Her dark hair stuffed into her brother’s old cap. 

Her determined smile. 

Her last breath that turned into a smirk. 

The echo of shots ringing out around him and time stopping for him. 

His best friends sacrificing themselves for the greater cause.

The world crashing silently around him.

And now, he has nothing and everything. 

He remains married to his work, to his words, to his promises to his friends. He will move on, maybe let go. He’ll always think about them, but he will never let himself think about what could have been with Éponine. He will let her be a wild flower, let her weave herself into his brain and not let go.


End file.
